Closer
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: 2k14 'verse within the Love's Incipience series. Donatello tries to talk April out of moving into the second hand shop that her great aunt bequeathed to her in a will. Located in a dangerous part of town riddled with evidence of gang activity and a certain vigilante's mark that has Don on edge. April simply wants to get closer.


**Closer**

The shop sat just up ahead on the dark street flanked by a row of dumpy-looking tenements on one side and a collection of similar shops on the other. Most shuttered and locked for the night, others obviously unrented and empty. The atmosphere of the neighborhood was one of shady dealings and isolation. The second-hand shop itself seemed hostile towards them as it glowered with opaque windows at their approaching.

Situated at the corner, it looked as forlorn and out of place as the misshapen spindly oak that somehow managed to grow in the two-by-two square of soil granted to it between the pock-marked pavement and sidewalk. It was the only organic thing out there besides him and April for blocks. Several leaves dropped and skittered into the gutter as they passed under it towards the front door. Donatello glanced up at the twining braches, realizing that a proper fertilizer, something like a slow release organic nitrogen-rich compound and some leaf-mold compost around the base would improve its condition monumentally. He made a note to mention it to her later. Then immediately replaced it with another note to forget it and not bother her with inane information that had no bearing on her life whatsoever and would only serve to further prove what a complete dork he actually was.

They were only there to inspect the two-story building that her great aunt had left to her in her will. More specifically, _he_ was only there to check the foundation, water and gas lines and electrical wiring. Not to make small talk. Not because she wanted company. Not because she chose him out of his brothers because she enjoyed her time spent with him, no. He was good for one thing and one thing only. She'd made it perfectly clear when she entered the lair.

# # #

"Is Donatello around?"

Through the closed lab door, he heard the question ring out, above the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata blasting in his ears as he sat hunched over several circuit boards in various states of disassembly. He heard it in the way the lair went completely still whenever she came to visit. How it felt like everything hushed in respect to her presence, awaiting any sign or any word of anything she may require of them. Their Hogosha.

He popped the ear buds from his head and sat rigid and listening, head cocked, tipped to one side slightly, not really trusting that he'd actually heard her ask specifically for him. His heart did the disturbing skip-stumble it had developed a habit of doing whenever she came around as he clearly heard Master Splinter call for him. He could make out voices talking, most clearly, Mikey asking how she was, in the overly animated manner he had around her but other than that, he couldn't discern what was being said.

He climbed to stand, setting the unfinished boards to one side as he did and then hesitating for a moment, he glanced around, feeling as though he was forgetting something. He lightly padded his hips and thighs absentmindedly. He didn't have his gear on, only his bottoms, his favorite woolen socks and his mask. But he felt oddly naked and rather exposed and couldn't figure out what to do about it. There was an irrational desire to load his electronic pack, goggles and all, on top of himself. To hide behind the gear, like a toddler with his security blanket.

_What a child I am! She isn't that intimidating. You're a ninja for Newton's sake! Get it together, imbecile._

He adjusted his glasses and called out in a hoarse voice that rose and cracked, "Just a minute!"

Mortified at the sissy-like tone he'd just produced, he cleared his throat several times and trying out other responses in different unacceptable tones as he hastily stepped over the equipment spread all over the floor. He grabbed the closest mug on the way out, bringing it to his mouth and taking an enormous gulp just as he cleared the doorway. The coffee was chilled and he learned, too late, from the day before. He grimaced sharply into the mug as he proceeded forward and nearly plowed straight into April. With a shout of fright, he backpedaled, sloshing the tar-like substance violently inside the mug and spilling it on his chest and stomach. The ice-cold fluid ran down his plastron in thin brown rivulets.

"Oh, gosh! I'm sorry," she said and moved to wipe him off with her sleeve tucked over her hand.

Donatello jumped and lurched back before she reached him. "It's okay, it's fine. No harm done," he said quickly with one hand held up and out to stop her from getting too close. If there was a flash of hurt on her face due to the clipped tone in his voice, he couldn't tell. Maybe she was simply disgusted with his oafish mannerism. Some ninja. He twisted to retrieve one of the rags tossed around the lair. This one hung on a peg near the hanging boxing bag. He felt the back of his neck heat and wouldn't look at her, keeping his head low, shoulders hunched, shell against the door frame as he wiped the bitter-smelling moisture from his body.

"You sure?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice as Raphael snorted from somewhere out of sight followed by Mikey's annoying giggle. He'd constructed the newly installed security system including fiber optic cables for their closed circuit system and micro-video surveillance cameras out of scraps scavenged from every electronic store's dumpster and recycling center within the five mile radius of their new lair. Surely he could clean himself without help. Apparently their Hogosha was not as confident in his abilities. Could he blame her? The last time she'd been here he'd blown up his chemistry set, as she so succinctly put it, during a simple solution observation, making a complete ass out of himself. Not to mention wasting precious materials for no good reason other than he thought she was laughing at him. Foolishness.

Master Splinter emerged from behind April. "Ms. O'Neil is here for you, my son." He sounded just as amazed by the words as Donatello was hearing them.

Donatello looked up. Any earlier chagrin he felt vanished. Replaced with that fluttery feeling in his chest. His eyes shot between her and his father. "Oh?"

He straightened up, blinking, worrying the rag between his fingers. She'd come here for him. Why? To . . . To simply fraternize? With _him_? Nonsense. There was some other more plausible reason behind this. He was sure. When she'd dropped in before to help him in the lab, she always texted first, formally asking if there was any lab work she could assist him with. And that had only been twice, with the last time being the final appearance of her as his assistant no doubt due to his humiliating display of ineptitude with his very own equipment. And her presence then was merely due to her curiosity of what their blood samples could produce under various conditions.

After Sacks had made it clear that their blood carried this mutagenic compound, he'd become increasingly interested in what exactly that meant for him and his brothers. There was a healing property inherent in it, but he was sure that if he'd had the correct equipment, he could unlock all the secrets of their mutation . . . to the end of . . . even possibly one day, correcting the flaws of their expedited evolution, to discover and unlock a treatment to make them closer to normal in appearances. Closer to human. All in the pursuit of an impossible dream. A dream so close to a possible reality that it had him in a fevered grip.

He was blessed or cursed with this superior intellect for a reason. He'd always believed this. Knew there was some reason for this beyond it just being the luck of the draw. And Donatello now believed, since learning of the incredible mutagen running within his very blood, it was to unravel this mystery and give his family the greatest gift a loved one could bestow. A chance at living a happier, healthier life.

For them it would mean living above and out of the subterranean prison that these tunnels had been for the first seventeen years of their miserable and lonely existence. A chance to walk in the light, unafraid. To live. Really live. And possibly . . . for his brothers to find love.

"So, are you free?" she asked, making him start.

"Wh-What do you need with, er, f-from me?" He coughed. "What's up?" he squeaked and internally groaned at the sound.

"Tool box?" she asked with a grimace and a sheepish grin.

"Oh." His shoulders slumped. _She only wants your tools._ "Let me get it," he said softly and moved the mug in a fidgeting circle between his hands.

"Actually, Donnie."

He froze mid-step, still unused to the sound of his nickname in her mouth, still unsure of how he felt about the intimate familiarity it proposed. His brothers called him Donnie. The people who knew him. Who loved him. He wasn't even sure she liked him, was more convinced she was merely curious about his experiments than he, himself.

"I need you to come with the tool box. Is that okay? Can I have you for the night?"

His eyes widened. His heart skipped and stumbled, making his breath hitch somewhere between his throat and nose, choking him and making him cough. His mind scattered.

_Yes. God yes, wherever you want. The ends of the known universe. I'm there. Whatever you need. You want soil samples from the bottom of the Pacific, consider it done. Whenever you need anything, anytime of day or night just ask. I'll never sleep again. Who needs it, anyway? _

_I'll be your slave._

He made a strangled sound that transformed into a loud clearing of his throat at that last errant thought and felt his face burning with shame and horror. _What is wrong with me!?_ He surprised himself with his composed reply, "Of course. I'm yours."

# # #

On the way to the shop, she filled him in on the fact that her great aunt had passed away a month prior and only now had a will been discovered and her inheritance revealed. The shop wasn't far from their new lair and she hoped he could check the place out for her and give his opinion on the state of the basic utilities and general condition of the building. She needed his mechanical expertise. His opinion on the state of the utilities. Cold logic. Objective recommendations. Nothing else.

His earlier enthusiasm cooled as logic and arbitrary reason doused any foolish romantic notions. Sparse though they might be. Nothing like that was possible. Surely if she wanted one of them, in that way - which was ridiculous to even consider – still, he was sure it would be between one of the alphas – Leonardo and Raphael. Raph due to his strength and bold persona, Leo due to the natural charm that came with their leader since birth and noble aspect he exhibited under the most stressful of situations.

"You feeling okay, Donnie?"

He visibly flinched and gave her a weak smile. "Just not accustomed to standing out in the open like this. Though, I doubt we'll run into anyone. The neighborhood is quite, uh, devoid of life."

"Yeah," she sighed. "My great aunt loved this place. Wouldn't sell it, even when the neighborhood got bad. Never had that much trouble, but then again, she didn't have much to steal." She stood back from the front of the shop and dug out the set of keys from her back pocket of her jeans. "I used to play with some of the lesser important antiques when my dad would bring me here to visit. She used to tell me stories about my adventurous uncle, too."

"Ah, childhood memories. Sounds very pleasant," he said softly, trying to imagine her as a curious child and only seeing her eyes in the lab next to him, bright and intelligent, so quick to ask him about his work, so quick to remember the smallest detail. That lively mind behind the beautiful face.

She flashed him a smile that had him turning his head away as his heart flickered like a dying flame. He moved the tool box from one hand to the other and glanced again at the sad looking oak. It seemed to join him in looking uncomfortable.

"This is much closer to our new lair than your current apartment," he mentioned causally and wished immediately that he'd kept quiet. It made no difference that this shop was much closer to their lair than the apartment she'd been renting up town. He should not allow himself assumptions of additional visits, of more unexpected drop-ins. She was only going to sell the shop should it be in saleable condition.

"Yeah, that's a plus, right? Outright ownership is another," she said as she jangled the keys and worked first one then another into the large padlock. Mumbling to herself and telling him it would just be another minute. Donatello nodded and turned back to face her and found his eyes rove involuntarily to the shape of her bottom as she bent forward. He immediately covered his eyes and coughed, feeling his face burn.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to take a look around," he said and turned away from the lovely sight feeling his face heat.

The boarded up shops across the street were in a similar condition, abandoned and sprayed in a muted collection of gang symbols. A mix of warnings and boasts. Of them all, the mark of the Purple Dragons seemed to dominate. This part of town was not safe. Donatello frowned deeply. Not an ideal location for a store or for habitation. The nearest police department was miles away. There wasn't a grocery store within nearly the same difference.

As April fought with the padlock, he sidestepped around the oak to the side of shop and glanced into the gangway between the buildings. Similar gang markings were sprayed along the bricks, but something else caught his eye. A face. He squinted and adjusted his glasses, stepping deeper into the narrow space.

No, not a face, but a white mask. Twin black holes were painted where the eyes should have been. The whole picture came into focus and he realized he was looking at a modified 'jolly roger'. The twisted depiction of a hockey mask with a cricket bat and a hockey stick as the cross-bones behind it. A cryptic message was scrawled over some Purple Dragon's tag: _Casey Jones takes no prisoners_. As he mulled over that the creaking of the gate and her triumphant shout had him rejoining April.

# # #

The utilities were in better condition than either of them had expected. The upper apartment furnished with old fashioned but well-cared for furniture. She set a pot to boil as he settled onto the soft seat of the sofa. A minute later she'd brought in two mugs. She handed one to him and he thanked her and blew gently across the surface of the tea. She watched him with a curious expression on her face.

"So," she started, "it's not the _best_ neighborhood." She glanced around with an odd little smile on her face and stood up. He observed silently from where he sat, mug poised carefully on his lap as she moved along the picture frames set upon a row of shelves; her fingertips lingering first over one then another. "But the foundation is solid," she murmured. "And not just the building's. I have a lot of wonderful memories of this place. Of my family here. And everything works the way it should."

"The hot water heater is quite old," he interjected. "Nearly shot."

She turned around and pointed at him. "True. Hot water heater." She made a check mark in the air. "Bad." She raised her brows. "Closer to work," she checked the air a bit to one side, "good. No more rent. Really good! Possible extra income from the shop downstairs, extra good!" she nodded enthusiastically at him making more little check marks in the air.

"Gang riddled neighborhood," Donatello offered grimly and felt his stomach sink.

She was trying to weigh her options of living there. And here he was talking her out of being closer to them. _Whose side am I on?_ Then immediately knew the answer. He'd want her somewhere safe. Even if it meant away from them. In another state, in another country.

"Lots of gang tags. Most likely very active in the area, including a possible vigilante presence. Not safe at all," he insisted with a firm tone and set the mug of tea on the coffee table. He started to get up when she interrupted him.

"Ooh, a vigilante, huh? Sort of, uhm, I dunno, like you?"

Donatello blinked and his gaze darted around. "Well, er, not, uh, quite. No."

"Okay, but," April held up a finger and moved to stand in front of him. He fell back reflexively. Panicked slightly when she stood in front of him. He could only sit back and blink up at her. "I would be extra safe because you would be closer to me."

"You mean . . . w-we . . . my brothers and I," he clarified and really wanted to smack himself upside the head.

She nodded and crossed her arms. "I think I've made up my mind, Donnie."

He squirmed at the use of the nickname again. "April," he ran his tongue along the bottom of his teeth, then bit his bottom lip, he had to be frank with her. "I don't understand."

"Hm?"

"Why would you choose to live here when you could live anywhere you want?" He sat up and she moved the tea cup out of her way and sat before him. "It makes no sense to me. Why put yourself in obvious danger? A lone woman, as-as p-pretty, er, attractive and all alone . . ." he huffed past his discomfort. "Why run the risk when you know we can't possibly watch over you twenty-four . . . seven," his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat softly and wouldn't meet her eyes. He turned his face away.

He felt himself getting upset and wasn't sure why. His heart was galloping and his throat was tight. It was irrational, this decision. It wasn't logical. She was smarter than this. She could go wherever she wanted. Why settle for the middle of nowhere? A place where only the dregs of society might hang out. A place made for miscreants and . . . mutants.

He looked her in the eye and said in an even, firm voice, "It's not a good idea. I advise you to sell the property and get yourself into a comfortable apartment uptown. Away from this neighborhood and all the garbage it entails. You don't belong in a place like this. Not you."

She reached forward and took his hands in both of hers before he realized what was happening. He couldn't pull away without making it obvious that he was uncomfortable with her touch, which was true and not. Her hands were soft and warm and he wanted to feel them run along his arms and chest and shoulders. He pinched his eyes shut and popped them open. And yet all he wanted to do was retreat. He felt himself pressing once more into the back of the sofa as she ran her thumbs over the backs of his hands. She leaned forward. She was now more or less positioned between his trembling knees and his heart sped as his body warmed incrementally from his toes to his cheeks. Her honeyed scent spilled over him and his mouth watered involuntarily with the desire to seek out that aroma and taste it.

Her voice was low and serious as she said, "I know where I belong." She let that sink in. She looked him in the eye with an expression of sheer determination on her face. "I understand that there is some real danger to living in this part of town. But Donnie," she paused. "This is _my_ neighborhood. Before the gang bangers and the thugs bullied their way in, my great aunt and my uncle, my father and mother came here for Thanksgiving and Christmas, to watch fireworks from the roof, and for barbeques in that little yard in the back. And now I want new memories, with the people who are special to me here in this place."

"I-I didn't mean to impose my opinion on you, April," he answered quietly feeling hot and cold and ashamed and wanting only to leave. He'd upset her. And in doing so, pushed her in the exact direction he wished for her not to go. Her stubborn nature reminded him of Raphael's. The two of them would be well suited should she choose him. Although, they'd probably bump heads often. He brushed the thought away. "I merely am thinking of your safety."

"And I know that I have some freedom as far as moving to any neighborhood I'd like," she went on, ignoring his apology and excuses. "But I don't want to be anywhere else but here. Closer . . . to you."

Without a missing a beat, he clarified for her, "You mean my brothers."

"And you."

"The lab."

"You."

He blinked. His mind tried and failed to process what she'd just said. He tried again. No good. Error message. This made no sense. What could she possibly mean by insisting on singling him out? He was dull and tedious. Not like Mikey with his joy and flamboyance. He was a stuttering, clumsy mess around her. Not like Leonardo with his charming grace. He was downright feeble next to the bulky strength and volcanic masculinity of his brother, Raphael. What did he have to offer besides his tools and lab? His dry techno-babble and geeky love of science fiction shows and novels?

Something was taking shape in the far recesses of his more primitive mind. Something nebulous and incredibly hard to grasp in order to examine with any sort of clarity. Try as he might. But it continued to form in its own ethereal way. And his heart pounded and skipped and made him feel dizzy and shaky though he was more warm than cold but he wasn't sure he was well. He didn't understand any of this and it was beginning to make him fear for his sanity. Maybe he needed a vitamin shot.

But she suddenly got up, releasing him, and the pressure in his chest eased, the confusion dimmed and the panicked grip of unknown terror faded. He gulped and blew out a breath, then another as he ran a trembling hand over his jaw and rubbed both hands together to facilitate circulation; still feeling the ghost of her gentle grip against his sweating palms, the invisible touch of her thumbs still stroking the back of his hands.

She straightened her blouse and moved to the end of the room towards the exit. She braced her hands upon her lower back, stretched and said, "It's settled then." She tipped her head, "Well, c'mon. I've got to get up early to see my landlord and talk about releasing me from my rental agreement."

He got up hastily. He crossed the room, stooped to pick up his tool box when she placed her hand on his arm. He went rigid and froze in place.

"Why don't you leave that here? It'll save you the trouble of lugging it back tomorrow night."

"T-Tomorrow night?"

"I'm thinking about replacing that pesky hot water heater."

"Oh," he replied stupidly.

"A girl's gotta have her indulgences. And a nice hot bath is one of my favs."

Donatello remained in muted astonishment as she gave him a smile that could only be interpreted as seductive just before she turned to leave. She opened the door and slipped through as his heart and mind raced in a jangled jumbled mess of mixed messages and delicate foolish hope. Impossible, ridiculous hope.

He cast a glance at the living room, the apartment that she was determined to claim as her own, within easy walking distance of their lair; a half hour at most if he walked, fifteen minutes should he run. Not that he'd have a reason to run. Unless she called him.

Then he'd sprint.


End file.
